Hands
by Sheela
Summary: There just was something about hands that caught her. Introspection about different sets of hands, Rose's POV


Title: Hands

Author: Sheela

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: BBC owns Dr Who, I own nothing, except for my own two hands.

Archive: Sure, if you want to; just let me know where it is going.

Feedback: Love it! It's what makes writing an even greater joy. Either leave a review or mail me at MorgaineTheFairygmx.de – I'm always happy to hear opinions or suggestions. I promise I will reply to every mail I receive.

Summary: Fluff again. Bit of introspection and musing about hands – Rose's POV.

Author's Note: This little fic was inspired by too much "Hand-Porn" in several Doctor Who fan vids and therefore it is dedicated to all those talented viders out there!

Special thanks go to my two wonderful beta readers Acid and Helen – thanks for making this readable!

* * *

"Question number eight," Captain Jack drawled dramatically, holding up the teen magazine while somehow keeping it safely out of Rose's reach at the same time. The 21st century girl by now deeply regretted ever leaving it lying around the control room. She should have known that the Captain would just love it and immediately tease and torture her with its contents and too much personal information about himself.

"In your opinion, Rose, what's the most important feature in a man? A) Eyes?" he read aloud, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "B) Smile?" The Captain gave her a juicy leer, "C) Body?" and leaned forward seductively, "D) Ass?" At this his hips rocked in a slow circle. "Or E) Other? Oh, that reminds me of that one time when I met this huge…"

Rose's mind automatically blocked Jack's voice out as he prattled on. For her it would have to be 'other'. Rose knew that she always went for one distinctive feature in a man above all others – hands, plain and simple hands. She was well aware how cheesy it sounded. It was almost as bad as 'sense of humour' or 'good character,' but for her it was certainly true. She couldn't even explain her fascination properly. There just was something about hands that caught her. Each of her past boyfriends had had a very distinctive set of hands, albeit all very different from the other guys.

First of all there'd been Daniel – her first real, proper boyfriend. Daniel, the artist. His hands had been easily recognisable with bitten-down fingernails and long, spidery fingers that were always covered in blotches of paint and forever in movement. They were too creative, too full of life, too energetic and too nervous to ever settle down for a heartbeat. In the end Daniel and his hands had been just a tad too creative and fluttery and Rose had eventually broken it off.

Then there was Jimmy – her second boyfriend and first big crush and ultimately crash. God, how she had fallen for him! Fallen hard and fast. He had been "the bad guy" with something slightly dark and dangerous about him; the kind of guy mothers wanted to protect their daughters from. For him Rose had quit school after her GCSEs and left her mom's. Jimmy's hands had been hardened and were strong and tense, always balled into fists and stuffed into his pockets when he walked – no, prowled – with barely contained strength and anger. Hands like that could never caress or protect – they were only ever made to hurt. When Rose finally left Jimmy she'd been bruised and not just in the mental, heartbroken way, but in the physical black and blue kind of sense.

Sometimes in the dark hours of the night when she was feeling particularly honest with herself, Rose mused that in a certain way Jimmy had actually driven her to be with Mickey.

Mickey's hands had been nothing like Jimmy's. They'd been slightly short and stubby, but soft and always very sweet to her, caressing, stroking and embracing. That was what had drawn Rose to Mickey. Even if they were not able to protect her, at least these hands would never hurt her.

Ultimately 'nice, sweet and gentle' just wasn't enough to hold you forever. Eventually Rose had fallen again for a different set of hands, the perfect kind of hands. Big, strong hands with calluses and a bit rough in all the right places, but gentle and caring at the same time. These hands were capable of catching you when you fell, of holding you, and of guiding and giving warmth when it was needed. Most important of all, these were hands that were able to protect.

"Oi! So what's it gonna be, Rose?" Jack's face appeared only inches in front of hers, startling her out of her quiet musings. He held the magazine aloft with a questioning look.

Thankfully Rose was spared the need to answer. With a triumphant "Aha!" the Doctor appeared from the grating under the TARDIS control and jumped up. "All done! Off we go! Come on, you two teenage couch potatoes!"

With a giant grin the Doctor energetically grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her up with a flourish. Laughing good-naturedly, Rose let herself be dragged towards the door. Just before they stepped through it, she looked down at their intertwined hands.

They fit perfectly.

The End


End file.
